There Once Was A Boy
by LuaveYoueth
Summary: Seek to unravel Boy's past. The monstrous world we discover behind the term "Little Monsters". From boy to monster, human to abomination.
1. Chapter 1

**September 15, 1924**

_The uproar of chatter as they all move along the hard concrete floor. I hear a hint of laughter pass behind me as I walk towards the building. _

_I can hardly keep steady on these uneasy two parted legs. I am now back in this abaddon's raise of imprisoned youth camp, ._

_Hmm, as expected, this private school hasn't changed the least bit since the beginning of sophomore year. Other than that I am not looking forward to this year._ **At all.**

The young boy approaches the steps that lead to the front of the school. He, alone, sits on one of the steps, laying his book bag beside him. The bells haven't rung, yet. Detached in the lack of interest of his surroundings, he fiddles with his fingers. One, two, three, four, five…finger by finger, over and over in his head.

Ahead of his counting, three kids stand just a few feet away from him, observing his countless ends of fingers and his features. Black blazer, school emblem on top of his right, white collared top with a red and striped navy blue tie, grey dress shorts, and black knee high socks with black dress shoes. Typical uniform standards for the young male of , but his black curled hair and his semi-pale skin made him seem more _colder _than the rest of the kids at school. The three kids begin to talk among one another about the mysterious boy playing with his fingers.

"Well, I'll be damned…" one of the kids said, crossing his arms. "That's the same boy from last year." He unbelievably shook his head. One of the boys from the group squinted his eyes at the boy and in no doubt he knew what he was exactly talking about.

"I can't believe he would have the nerve step on this campus again." The kid with the squinting eyes said.

One of the kids from the group overlooked his appearance and had no idea who he was and why they didn't seem to like him.

"What? Who is he?" He questioned.

"You weren't here last year on what he did. Everyone was talking about it." The kid with the crossed arms turned to him. About to open his mouth again he was interrupted by the other boy who spoke of him.

"Yeah, he left in the beginning of the school year after he allegedly took advantage of a young girl." He spoke in disgust.

"And a young boy too." The other kid reassured the other who was talking.

"Uh, actually that was a rumor."

"No, it was true! I heard it from the other kids."

"Bologna, what kids? It's all talk."

"Yeah, yeah, sure, sure," He scoffed, nodding his head in a sarcastic manner. "Whatever he's done, you know that no one in this school likes him."

"Ohh, how sad." The boy who listened, now jumped into the conversation.

"Sad!" The other kid turned to him, raising one eyebrow. "It's anything BUT sad. The little creep deserves no friends and it should stay that way."

"Yeah, and I hear he's an animal killer too." The other said.

"Really? That's awful!" The listener said in an alarming voice.

"Weeeeell, mixed stories here and there." He gestures his hand sideways. "But, the word got around when he choked his neighbors dog."

"And he ate the dog after that!" The other kid continued as the boy who listened widened his eyes at him.

"Heh, don't listen to him. Never happened, I-I think…" He tipped his chin.

"Gee, I think I've had an earful of talk about _him_ lately." The listener frowned, unsure what to believe and what to think about this boy who supposedly has a bad reputation behind him. He looks like a decent boy to get along with, but something about him seemed eerie, even for a kid like him who didn't know the boy.

"Ha, just make sure you don't bump into him." The kid chuckled, nudging his arm.

"Hehehe, or else he'll eat you up!" The other one laughed as they both laughed together, saying harmless jokes to one another, bump to bump.

The listener just shook his head away from the two boys who were now jokingly talking to each other. Blabbering comments made him uninterested in the talk of nonsense.

Left out of the conversation, he glanced over at the boy and to his surprise the boy was staring directly at him. His breath dropped, the hairs on his skin tensed up as he gravely stared into his aphotic eyes.

The bells aloud rang for the start of class to begin. The curl-haired boy did not move nor did he move his eyes from the kid who dared to look his way. His breath slightly escaped when he opened his mouth, his eyes quickly avoided his trancelike trap. He then began to head off to class in another direction away from the front entrance of the school.

He dared not to look back, afraid that he might still be there, but he couldn't help but to peek over his shoulder. The boy was already gone.


	2. Chapter 2

_Babble, babble, I could care less to what she is now driveling about. She is pacing back and forth in front of the room, her hands in constant motion. She's moving her mouth, though she's not really saying anything. BAH, teachers...they always repeat what they say. _

Talking to himself inside his head, throughout the full lesson of today's class session, the young boy from before sat around a desk full of children. His chin under his palm, leaning forward his desk, his only "entertainment" in class is his finger tracing the edges of the desk. The dull grey walls imprisoned the room shut with no window to relief a touch of light inside. And the chalk board permanently damaged by smudged chalk marks and dust.

Ms. Teacher in a white flower patterned dress, however, managed to catch the young boy's attention for a slight minute or two while defying the teacher's moral lessons of today's plan. Inside his head, of course. He didn't care…and then, the young boy was starting to focus on what happened this morning. He linked his fingers together, against his mouth and was from then on in deep thought.

_Those boys from this morning...they seemed to take quick brief glances towards my direction. Obviously, I was mentioned in their little conversation. I should have known the rumors between that wretched girl and I were never buried under the tongues beneath those who could never shut their mouths. Am I to attend this year in shame with my head down as they continue to talk about absolute rubbish? What will become of the steps I descend through the halls of this school? Will I let one or two or more rumors be spread by mouthful of children? _He covered his eyes with crossed fingers. He knew nothing mattered no more. No one believed that he didn't intentionally touch the girl.

Not even his father. The boy thought, knowing his son, that he was never sexually active at all. He never acquainted a female romantically, nor did ever severe a crush. He thought, maybe people would have had the idea that he was bent, a fairy, crooked, queer. But again, he viewed them just as boys, not interested. His nonsexuality was unknown.

During weeks and weeks of counseling after the _incident_, the young boy told his side of the story to his counselor. But, during those weeks alone in counseling, the counselor was convinced that this young man, who he counseled a few months, was an ill at ease boy whom was departed from the inclusion of school activities, friends, and possibly the world around him. Therefore, by all means, he tried to commit a forceful act against a girl due to the facts that he wanted to take advantage of his anger and his furtive lustful desires. Therefore, for those measly reasons, the counselor concluded that the boy was an attempted defiler. Nonsense. He wouldn't go near her, even after what he had heard after that day.

But first, his memory goes to what exactly happened that day.

His fingers now begin to twitch on the desk with his palm against the side of his cheek.

He remembers the days when he was an early sophomore the year before. An overachiever focused on high grades and the approval of his father's acceptance. It was highly unlikely that he would ever receive an unaccepted grade from any teacher. He was a good boy when it came to education.

Weeks later, in the beginning of his school year, he started to find little notes stuck to the handle of his locker. His first note inscribed,

_Hello, you might not remember me, but I bumped into you two days ago and I've seen you walk pass by me through the hallways. You're quite a looker. _

_Sincerely, anonymous. _

_Anonymous?_ He thought, _why did she not just write her name?_

He crushed the little _love _note in his hand and trashed it. Whoever she was, he thought nothing of her. And then the next day, in the morning, he found another note stuck to the handle of his locker once more. In it she wrote, _hello, it's me again. How have you been? I saw you yesterday sitting by yourself outside of school. What were you thinking of? I couldn't keep my eyes off you. You appeal to me in a strange way. Please, write back soon. You can leave the note by your locker where I placed it. Sincerely, anonymous. _Again, anonymous returned. He wasn't interested in writing back to her. He crushed the paper and threw it in the trash once more. But, that wasn't the end of the beginning of the series of her little love notes. The next morning he found another one of her notes, it read, _hello, it's me again. I noticed you didn't write back, yet. I hope you can soon. I really want to get to know more about you. By the way, I'm terribly sorry that I haven't mentioned my name before in my previous letters. My name is Kathleen. If you see me around, I have long blonde hair and hazel eyes. I'm sorry if that doesn't help, it's the best I can do. Sincerely, you know who._ He didn't recall hearing the name _Kathleen _in any of his classes; in fact he has seen many long blonde headed girls around the school. He was a little tempted to search for this girl _Kathleen_, however he did not want to cross paths with her. She would assume that he had some sort of _liking _towards her. He ignored his silly suggestion and moved on forward the day. Over the next few days, each and every morning, he would find yet another note on the handle of his locker. The notes were short lettered this time, reading, _I think I'm in love with you_, or, _you are more than a mystery to me_. Every note angered the boy more and more. He was more bothered than moved by her words. But like any other note he received, he trashed it like the others. At last, the final note reached to its end on the date of the 10th. Her words on the last note inscribed, _PLEASE, consider meeting me at my house for tea. I know you haven't replied to any of my letters, but I do know for a fact that you are reading them. I guess you're too shy to respond to my sweet little notes. Don't worry hun, I can be shy too. I have a feeling we'll get along really good. Here's my address, 76012 Wilford Dr. Five blocks from the school. I would be more than pleased if you would stop by. Sincerely, Kathleen. _

This was the last straw for the young man. He decided that he would stop by her house and have a little "chat" that would end the note sending.

After school, he was dropped off in front of the girl's house, which was a beautifully detailed residence. He passed by the open gated entrance, reached to the steps of her door, and ringed the doorbell twice. The door was opened by a blonde Kathleen, petite and the color of crème, in a white velour robe, with a widened grin she said, "You're here!" She emphatically pulled his hand and led him inside a house decorated in walls of framed paintings.

"Would you care for some tea now?" She turned to him, smiling, still holding his hand.

"N-no I—

"Great!" She elatedly interrupted his words. "We'll just go to my room then."

Suddenly, a voice down the hall shouts, "Who is it, dear?"

"Just a friend, Mother," she responds.

"Alright, dear," her voice again descends from the halls.

"Let's go." She smiled, leading him the way

"Wait, I, UGH," he ended his sentence with a disgruntled sigh. Confined by her hand pressing against his fingers, he was foolishly pushed over to accept her invite. Up the stairs, seemingly in a hurry, they reached to her door. Open, close, and lock. They were both alone. She stepped closer towards the boy, her hand rested on his shoulder. Her eyes fixed into his, but his eyes averted away from her gaze.

"I have to go," he said, pulling away from her. "I can't be here."

"Wait," she demanded his attention. "Don't go, I really think you should stay."

Kathleen started stroking upward and downward the boy's arms, slightly unveiling her robe and revealing only her undergarments beneath the velour. The boy was uncomfortably tensed, immediately pushing her hands away from her touch.

"I really need you here," she said, in an alluring voice. Her hands begin to trace from his arms to his shoulders, leaning in for a kiss. Once more, he swiftly pulled away from her and headed towards the door without saying a word.

"Huh…I guess you're not like your father," Kathleen pointed out.

He stopped to the word of his **father. **_My father? _He thought, clutching tightly on the doorknob, his back towards the girl. His head swirled and he was ready to hear the unthinkable.

"You know my father?" He questioned, turning to her.

"Well, not directly," she replied. "But, I know of him through my mother."

She paused. Her brows wrinkled from displeasure. The distaste in her mouth mentioning her father revealed through her eyes.

"He's fooling around with **my **mother," her voice raised to an acrid pitch, alarming the boy. "I've heard them talking on the phone, and I've seen him come over when my father is at work," she shook her head in disbelief. The boy was still.

"She's married for Christ's sake!" Kathleen yelled at the boy. "And I know your father **has **to be married, right?"

"Correct," he paused for a moment. "However, she is my stepmother. I never approved of her marriage to my father after the decease of my real mother."

He stepped a little closer to where she stood to inform her.

"If you brought me here for the reason of your struggled predicament, with your bitter-tarted mumsy, and expect **me **to tear apart the relationship between those two, then there is no HOPE. I cannot interfere with my father's privacy!"

Silence paused the tension. The boy was still in front of her, he glowered deep into her thoughtful expression. Finally Kathleen said, "I know….I had a feeling you would say that." Her hand clouted across his face. The boy was stunned by her fierce reaction. He did not focus on his next move. No. He did not want to strike back. He stood motionless.

"I will **NOT," **she shouted. "Let this family break apart because of your father. And if my father finds out about this, he'll go crazy!" Kathleen continued to slap him again.

Infuriated, the boy lost control of his temper, and snapped at Kathleen.

"AND WHAT DOES THIS HAVE ANYTHING TO DO WITH ME!" He shouted as he seized her hands from hitting him.

"It has **EVERYTHING **to do with you!" She shouted back as she yanked away from the hold of his grip. "He'll be ashamed to have you for a son, and my mother will dump him for letting such a **filthy** father let his **filthy** son _touch _a mother's innocent daughter. Yes, this will all go according to plan. After I'm done with you, first."

Confounded by her nonsense, he looked at her as if she had lost her marbles. "Have you lost your head, girl!" He couldn't help but to hint a chuckle.

"Is this your little plot for me purposely strike you for all your selfish reasons?"

"No," she said. "Not exactly."

She blew him another strike on the cheek of his face, again and again.

"Why don't you just hit me!" Kathleen wailed, hitting him numerous times against his chest, pushing him further into enragement.

Dodging the sways of her furious hits, his rage grabbed a hold of both her hands, clutched tightly from her struggle to hit him again.

"Are you mad!" He said, still on hold of both her wrists, as she leaned herself and the boy intentionally on the edge of her bed.

"What are you doing?" He released her, but as he freed his release, she continued to hit him directly across his face and his chest.

"Doesn't this make you angry?" She deviously chuckled. And then, opening her mouth, she screamed, "MOTHER! MOTHER! MOTHER!"

With both her hands curled into fists, she madly pounded against his chest.

"MOTHER!"

"What is wrong with you!" He yells through the blaring words of his anger at Kathleen, who again, continuously finds herself in the grasp of both his hands.

Then, a sudden voice from behind an opened door interfered with their wrangle. Kathleen's mother was seen by the door.

"Kathleen, what is, OH!" Kathleen's mother said, startled to see the boy tightly holding her "angel's" wrists together as her robe unveils and bares her exposed undergarments to the boy.

"OH, Mother!" She cries, running to her mother. Her deceiving tears, rolling down her cheeks as her mother accepts with open arms.

"He, he," she stuttered. "He tried to take advantage of me. I-I said no, but….he wouldn't stop!" She buried her face in her mother's arms.

Kathleen's mother glared madly at the boy. Thoughts racing through her mind at the possibilities given to this terrified mother if the mother hadn't found them in Kathleen's room.

The young man stood motionless, his eyes switching back and forth to Kathleen and her mother. Unable to move, his mouth instantly opened as he said,

"This isn't what it seems, it's not—

"Get out! **NOW!" **She abruptly interrupted. "Out, I say! **OUT." **

Hurriedly, pacing his way out towards the door, the mother chased him like a firing flame outside their house. In front of the house, the boy stopped running and turned directly at the mother, who was standing atop the steps below a few steps down from the boy.

He then blurted out and said,

"LISTEN, I **never **intentionally touched her, I—

"Get out of here, boy! She interrupted him again. "If I **ever—**

"IF you would just **listen **I would—

"MOTHER," the interruption continued as Kathleen called out from behind her mother. "I'm hurting…please…let us go inside," she pleaded, tugging her arm.

The poor mother weighed in distraught, warning the boy over again.

"Get off our property, now, you horrid monster, you! Go now!" She scowled angrily at the boy, warning him that **this **wasn't the last of it.

At last before he could run, he turned his eyes to the girl. Kathleen quietly, yet mischievously smirked at the boy. One last deceitful tear rolled down her face as he muted his lips and departed from their property ever again.

He had been tricked. He had been trapped by a smart cunning girl in a room of plotted deception. He had not seen it coming. He admitted to defeat, he had been outwitted by a tiny freshman. Yes, a freshman. Days later, he had discovered that Kathleen was only a freshman, an honor student in fact.

Anyway, continuing on of her deliberate plan of the boy's father and Kathleen's mother breaking apart. Well, it worked perfectly. Kathleen hinted the first and last name to her mother and immediately the mother recognized the boy's surname. Her secret "Mr. Sweetheart's", surname. As Kathleen correctly predicted, her mother questioned her _admirer _about the boy and himself as well. She was not entirely pleased with the explanations and his answers, bottom line she was somewhat devastated to hear that he would allow his son to attempt this unrighteous act against her precious "angel". As a devoted Christian, she truthfully was. She eventually left the truth of his other wedded wife and their relationship. The outcome of this all was a success to Kathleen. Her father never knew of his cheated wife's fooling, but of course, he knew of Kathleen's troubles with the boy.

One day after the incident, the young man was charged with attempted sexual assault. As well as a "pass" ticket fine since his age was under eighteen. And a few months of community service and counseling, which was the decision of his concerning father, worried about his sexual behavior and his intentions under the roof of his house.

Before home school, he was a focused target of the boys and girls at . He was the rumor of many sexual assaults against not only Kathleen but other's as well.

Other nonsensical rumors began to surface among the students by the start of it all. Kathleen.

But the boy, unable to prove his innocence and the evidence of the little "love notes" he disposed of a long time ago, was silenced by those who dismissed him.

He was now viewed as a trapped _monster _inside a very sick delusional boy….waiting to be freed. How sorry no one seemed to be.

"Come out to play, Mr. Hyde," he whispered to himself, out of thought. He trails his finger up and down the corner of his desk.

The teacher, walking down the rows of desks, stops beside the boy's desk. She watches him play "finger tag".

"**Ahem", **she clears her throat. Up his eyes stare directly into hers. "Having fun, aren't we?"

"Um," he says.

"Why aren't you doing your assigned assignment?" She questions the boy.

"Pardon?" He points out his confusion.

She impatiently sighs and says, "Wait for me outside the classroom. **Now. **Before, it's detention for you, young man."

A sneak of laughter is brought up in the back of the room.

He lowers his head to the teacher and the pupils of his eyes upper to the teacher.

"Yes, ma'am."


	3. Chapter 3

_What a terrible day. Philip should be here any minute now. _

The boy was leaning beside a tall lamplighter in front of the school. Patiently he awaits the arrival of his chauffer, Philip.

It was now after school. He was relieved to breathe and listen to the wind outside the dreary school. Among the listening wind, alone he was, the capability of twisting his thoughts freely was always outside the box, during class or after school, preferably after school. But, the sound of engines roaring and the sight of dismissed students outpouring through the doors was yet present.

Driving slowly, up the school's driveway, a black dusenberg breaks to a stop in front of him. A man in a formal chauffeur's attire, steps out of the vehicle and walks towards the boy.

"Good day, young master." He greets him with a smile as he opens the back door.

"Good day to you, Philip," the boy said.

"How was your first day of school today?" The chauffeur asked.

"Dreadful," the boy replies, crossing his arms. "In the morning I was called out of class because I uh….well…"

"Were you not listening?" Philip finished.

"Of-of course I was!" The boy lifted his head. "Teachers always love to pester new students. Unfortunately, it's part of their job."

Philip chuckled, nodding his head. "Haha, I see, I see."

"Yes, and then she gave me a warning. Detention is my next warning."

"Hm, that's something to be concerned about." He nodded again. "Well, is that all the news to hear about your _dreadful _day?"

"Oh no, not all of it," the boy said. "I was more of the target of all preying eyes. Everywhere I turned, everyone was against me." He turns his head over his shoulder.

"_Everyone..." _

"Or perhaps you are over-exaggerating?" The chauffer suggested.

"HA!" He tilts his head back. "Exaggerating….pff…I never."

"If you are sure, then I believe you, young master." he smilingly said as he leads his hand to the open door.

"Heh, thank you, Philip," the boy said. He enters the back seat of the vehicle. Philip shuts the door and they drive off to the middle of the road.

It was a short and easy ride down the path of clustered shops built closely by the pavement of the street. Various sizes of shuttered buildings leisurely pass by in a row. Several vehicles assemble in growing clusters. Traffic is ahead of them, slowly they move as hundreds of people crowd the street. Hurriedly, the crowd crosses from two different sides of the road. Patiently they wait in place.

The boy then observes the right of his side. A gathering of city dwellers stride to their probable destination. In a distorted line they follow the sidewalk.

_Oh look, a herd of cattle. _He thought to himself, giggling.

_One by one they will go in a cow pen, in their cow farms with their cow farmers._

He imagines their heads replaced by obscene cow heads. A grotesque picture of rough-edged knifes split through his head, piercing its way through thick coats of meat and flesh. Blood splattering in pools of slaughtered bodies mounted high in piles.

_Eventually, the farmers will skin them, one by one. _

_And then…**we devour them…mmm.**_

He humorously giggles out loud to himself, capturing the attention of Philip as his head turns smiling to the giggling boy.

"Why the laughter, young master?" He curiously questioned.

"Aha…oh, nothing," he said, immediately ending his giggles. He clears his throat as he says, "How long will we be here?"

"It'll only be another minute, now." He turns back to the steering wheel.

The vehicle began to shift slowly upwards the road where other conveyances depart from their bundles. Traffic was beginning to easily flow along.

In an instant they were on their way home.

Entering the suburbs of a spacious neighborhood, they park the black dusenberg in front of a luxuriant grand Victorian property, surrounded by evergreen shrubs and two towering trees. The boy is greeted by one of the house maids as she opens the house door for him.

"Welcome home, young master," she said, greeting him with a smile.

"Hello, goodbye," he said in a fast reply, walking past by her with no direct eye contact.

Swiftly moving through the arched halls, he reaches the dining room only to find the strict housekeeper, Eloise, a stubby woman, clothed in a black elongated dress, reading items aloud in her notepad. While the other house maid's finish preparing the dining table and cleaning the cabinets.

"Back from school already, young master?" Eloise confronts the boy, laying her hand on his shoulder. "Supper should be ready by six," she said, gently shaking his shoulder.

"Ah, yes, thank you," he said, forcing a smile. "By any chance, have you seen Muldren lately?"

"Why, yes!" She responds loud and clear. "That ol' bird has been from here to there and everywhere, all around the household every minute! He never eases off the hard work he's done. Nooo, never." She roars a laugh.

"Yes, **BUT**," she said, pausing to read the last of her items. "We finish things more quickly around here without rest."

"Right, well," he said, raising his brow. "I'll catch him later."

He exits the room, heading towards the stairwell as he ascends the spiral stairs quickly, step by step. Abruptly, his footsteps are linked heavily from up the stairs.

Up the staircase, Muldren, the bow-tied butler, descends from the steps and comes across the boy, who notices Muldren in place.

"Muldren," the boy said, calling his name.

"Ah, young master!" Muldren said.

"Any word from my father, yet?" He said, in a concerned tone.

"Yes, I'm afraid he is scheduled to attend another business trip."

"How long will the trip last?"

"Several weeks, I believe. They're unpredictable when business is at hand."

"Oh." His eyes shifted downward to the side. "What about _**mother?**_"

"Mother?" Muldren startlingly said. "You make her sound as if she **is **a disease."

"Well, she _is _my stepmother," he bitterly said.

"Well, your mother," Muldren continued. "She will be accompanying her region choir this week. And she will not be dining in with us today or tomorrow."

"Good." He stepped up a few steps past Muldren. He turns once more to the butler.

"I will not need anything until after supper. Neither will I need assistance outside my room."

"Very well, young master," the butler said, nodding once.

"Thank you, Muldren. Please, continue to carry on." He grinned down at the butler, dismissing him as he turns away, rising up the stairs.

He approaches the entrance to his room. He opens the door to find welcoming treasures of chests and toys encircling the walls of his room. Dolls, puppets, stuffed animals, and various colors and shapes of wondrous toys and shelves of many trinkets displayed by his bedside with a tall horse rocker nearby. The boy's room was any child's fantasy, a wonderland of delighted and youthful necessities in a pupil's eyes. One, would question why he still plays with toys? The answer is simply because he never outgrew his childish reasons. He never abandoned his prized possessions, his puerile obsessions. He was a friend to his collection.

He joyfully plopped on top of a large brown cushioned teddy bear. A red silk ribbon was ringed around the bear's neck, blankly staring down at the boy as he played with one of the ears.

"Did you miss me, Dozy?" He softly chuckled at the bear. "Is that a yes?"

He waited for a response.

"No!" He appallingly said. "WELL, I hope you don't mind I gouge your eyes out then. If you can never miss, then what is the use of those eyes?"

The boy widely grinned, playfully nipping his round plastic eyes.

"Oh, so you do miss me? Why the sudden change?"

He tugs his ribbon as he rests his head on his fuzzed arm.

"Never forget Dozy," he yawns. "You're mine forever and ever and ever…"

The boy dozes off into a slumber.


	4. Chapter 4

Night

He breaks through shattered glass. Dawdled time cannot rescue his escape. His fall continuously follows a downwards trail, sinking deeply into countless eternal mirrors.  
>His eyes closed and his arms and legs swimming adrift on a flowing current, the wind absent from an airless portal of fiery red curtains trailing along the boy's body.<br>He opens his eyes and finds himself entwined by waves of curtains as he suddenly falls below, landing perfectly on the ground. His eyes study on the waving blood curtains, they greet before him, motioning him towards the flap of the curtain.  
>He opens through, entering a hall of mirrors. Cautiously, he steps forward to see his reflection but, in sight, nothing passes across the hall.<br>Confounded by a thousand mirrors, he turns himself around, pressing his fingers against the mirrors trying to find his lost reflection. He pressed his body near the glass, his cheek pressed as his eyes follow his hand tracing downwards the non-reflective body glass.  
>As his hand goes down, he takes notice of an apparent hand similar to his.<br>Reflecting back **was** his hand. He looks up and down to see if his reflection is present but instead sees nothing. Focusing his eyes on the hand, one of the fingers begins to twitch and point ahead of his direction.  
>Aware of the gesture he tracks the lead of his <em>other<em> hand; he steps forward across the mirrors. His eyes fixated on the track of his hand, he moves little by little.  
>A while by foot, still following the line of his hand, he comes to a sudden stop.<br>His other hand begins to slowly vanish, nothing was there.  
>He uttered a sigh as he rubbed and pressured his eyes.<p>

Then he heard a faint voice from behind him saying, _look at me_.  
>He turned around to see nothing there and then closer and faintly louder behind him, <em>look at me<em>, _look at me_.

Turning his back he saw nothing once more. His mouth opened, desiring his words to speak out, but something restrained his speech.

His eyes darted side to side, and then in an aggressive tone,_ look at me, look at me, LOOK at me, __**LOOK AT ME.**_

He bounces back and turns around to find a cumbersome stuffed creature.  
>Puzzled by its peculiar appearance it just seemed out of the ordinary.<br>The fuzzed creature was the color of a deep green, it seemed to have stubbed spikes layered all over and the eyes were beady and miserly. Its appearance was indubitably fiendish. An only frightening creature alike to this was a…_monster?_  
>Uncertain weather or not he should step closer to the creature or not was undecided upon his next move. But, what harm could it do? It was only a harmless stuffed…thing.<br>He boldly challenged his perspective and stepped towards the creature. It sat motionless on the ground. He took another long step and was now in front of it.  
>He stood still, face to face; a shiver runs down his spine. His sight points and descries a black gap connected to the head and its body. Is the head torn?<br>He shot out his hand to the gap and linked his fingers under the head. Surprisingly, he was able to lift the dismembered head off of its body.  
>However, another part was atop the base of the creature. It was the boy's head.<br>His eyes widened in aghast. Incredulity expressed through first glance but another glimpse captured his eyes.  
>Slight holes outstretched around the center of his pallor face. His features, lifeless, resembling a torn apparition. He began to breathe heavily, running his fingers through<br>his hair.  
>His voice intense as he erupted, <em>"No, this isn't me...No…no…NO…..NO! NO! NO! NO!"<em>  
>He violently clawed at his disfigured head and flung the head against the mirrors.<br>As the head was thrown against the glass, a sudden crack divided the reflection of his face. Through the looking mirrors he could see his deteriorated face. The damage resulted from the head backfired on his own appearance.  
>The glass was beginning to split when, simultaneously, an arise of many laughter's taunt the boy. He spun around in repeated circles, his eyes dart over and over his laughing image. He pressed his hands over his ears crying out in frustration as the tattered edges of his skin begins to crawl off; blood trickled down the temples of his face.<br>He faced once more to one of his reflections.  
>The boy in the mirror was now chuckling faintly at his other self, who was bent to the knees, struggling to keep his stand.<p>

The _mirror boy_, mischievously, widened an open smile and pointed his fingers on his cheeks. _"Smile, YOU'RE just like MEEEeeeee!"_ he playfully screeched.  
>Continuous laughter pierced throughout the halls.<br>The boy screamed as he tore his-

**GASP**

Sweat dripped, wide-eyed, his jaw trembled.  
>Instantly, he positioned straightforward from his pillow.<br>Fully awake from his hellish nightmare, he had no intention to fall into another dream again. He rubbed his forehead, illusioning a wall to prevent the eerie blinking images inside his head. But, the wall was of no use as the images kept popping in and out of his head. The boy buried his face in the covers.  
>There was no use at all hiding what he had dreamt.<p>

_But, what did it mean?_, he thought, grunting.

And then….all he could hear was the sound of a _hum_. Humming.  
>Hushed humming from under his floorboard. Downstairs, maybe?<br>He un-buried his face and leaned his ear over the bed. The _hum_ was closer than he thought. He looked around his bedroom setting searching for an answer, but nothing.  
>And then a silly solution overcame his silly thoughts, <em>possibly, under my…bed?<em>  
>He quickly flipped his covers and peeked under the bed.<br>Nothing.

GoodNight


	5. Chapter 5

**September 16, 1924**

_I follow the steps that lead to the second floor. Mindfully, aware of the scattered feet in front and behind me I hurriedly ascend the flight of stairs as I approach the B hall.  
>Thoroughly, I circulate amongst the mingled sections of the crowd.<br>Strangely, I enacted a play in my head as I perceived the role of a perilous aviator jinking enemy student aircrafts. One touch could detonate the entire aviation.  
>I could see the other winged crafts fleeting to their bases. Would I reach the arrival of my destination?<em>

The bell rings. Hallways are starting to clear.

_Oh, no! I haven't reached the department, yet! It looks like I'm not going to make it, LSO._

The boy peered over his shoulder. All corridors were empty. Now, was his chance to _fly_.  
>Grinning, he thought, <em>second that, air boss. I'm going to have to warp one to the speed of the heat.<em>

Still playing the role as the aviator in peril, he widened his _wings_ in the back and sprinted down the pass. Winding his turns, he sharply meandered a fast turn and in the corner of his eye, in andante motion, inadvertently, inflicted a blow to an unknown touch of a forehead. _I've been bumped!_  
>Halted in track, he turned his head back. It was a boy about his age or so, light-brown locks and orbs of milky brindle. He leaned against and clutched the body of the wall. His hand on his forehead, he looked directly at the <em>pretender<em> and gulped at the sight of the boy, who recognized his oddly guise.

_Oh, why he looks familiar. What an unexpected surprise. Hm. He's the same boy I saw before today. The listener. When...those boys started to...yes. The same exact conversation __**that**__ morning. How embarrassing, maybe I should reconsider my daily  
>role-play.<em>

The _pretender_ resumed his blankly stare as so did the _listener_.  
>The boy wanted to apologize, but his tongue strained, avoiding speech.<p>

"I….u-um….," the _listener_ stuttered. He turned away; ready to walk off until the _pretender_ blurted out,  
>"<strong>Please<strong>, excuse my inane behavior. I apologize for my unfocused watch." he paused, shifting his eyes side to side. "I didn't mean…" he pinched a sigh.  
>"Forgive me."<p>

"Yeah, um, sure," he responded, observing his ungainly manner.  
>Inside the <em>listener's<em> thoughts, the boy seemed okay. However, he was presently strange.  
>And his eyes, those grim eyes.<p>

Nodding, the boy thinking,  
><em>I suppose there's no harm in bringing up a tad of a slight chat.<br>Maybe, __**this**__ year I could have a friend or two.  
>Why not?<em>

The _listener_ coerced a meager smile and repelled from the stiff situation.  
>Delayed by movement, the <em>pretender<em> suddenly broke his stillness and caught up forward the direction he was going.

"Tardy, aren't we?" the boy pointed out, by his side, attempting to make conversation. "This is certainly the first time I'm ever late. Mm, how about you?"

The other boy took a double gander at the _pretender_. He was not sure whether to reply or to fasten his pace. He was still eerily bothered by his _cold_ glare from yesterday, and the stories informed that stated he was troubled, didn't help at all. Nevertheless, he was somehow capable of being a _friendly_ person to others, including him?  
>The <em>listener<em> thought he might desperately need for friends after his suspension.  
>Again, he didn't know what to do, but to only respond to his question.<p>

"Um, I've been late before," he replied. "It's just one of those late mornings I have now and then, um, yeah." He falsely coughed, avoiding eye contact.

"I see…..well, where is your classroom?"

"Down this hall and past these doors." he explained, pointing his direct way as they both opened through the doors and reached the end of the B wing.

The two students came to a stop before the _listener's_ classroom door.  
>Through the tiny oblong window, within in sight of, he could see books in hand, and his teacher resonantly lecturing in front of the room.<br>The listener grumbled a sigh as he somberly turned away and sloped against the wall.

"Great, more reading," he mumbled, pressuring his fingers on top of his forehead.  
>"My head is throbbing."<p>

"Oh," the _pretender_ said, gazing down at his feet. He taps the point of his shoe, repeatedly on the floor.

The _listener_ looked at the boy pretending to scrape off something beneath his shoe, though he knew the _pretender_ was only evading the guilt from earlier on. At least, he thought that **is**, what he was pondering about.  
>Either way, his fault was not the cause.<p>

"It's not your fault. I just, um, get these headaches from time to time. Only in the mornings." He cleared the silence.

"That's not healthy," the boy remarked. "You should check in with a doctor.  
>Your head is the most precious part of the body that well reserves the mem—<p>

"**YEAH**," the _listener_ tediously cut in, "I know, thanks."

"Mm-hmm," the _pretender_ agreed.

"Weeeell," he lagged along, sighing. "I guess I should go in now, even though my head is aching too much for reading, ugh."  
>He rubbed his head, wincing at the pulsating throb, worsening his ache.<p>

"Very well," the boy said, "Hopefully, I will see you again?"

"Um, I don't know." He averted his eyes, reaching for the knob of the classroom.  
>The <em>listener<em> sensed the need to enter now.  
>He never assigned to become <em>friends<em> with him. Why would he **ever**?

"You know…it's not true. The rumors."

"Huh?" he questionably faced him.

"Between that wretched girl and I are falsely misleading, for it was _she_ that spoke of lies."

"B-but, wait...what?"

"I overheard, well, not entirely, but yesterday you were talking about it among three other friends."

"Oh. Yeah."

Of course, it all was evidently clear as to why he fixedly glared at him, which felt like a permanent mark. However, he was doubtful behind words he could not confidently affirm. Questions fulfilled his mind.  
><em>Was he telling the truth?<em>

"I don't know if I should believe you," the _pretender_ continued.

"If I was being dishonest towards you, then I would dismiss the point I am making.  
>I'm here to make friends...<em>friend<em>." He forwarded his hand out to shake.

"Um," he hesitated, although, he **did** have a concise _point_ in which he was making him understand. By some perchance, all he needed was another fair chance. The _pretender_ faintly smiled. "Sure." He offered his hand to shake.

"Oh, I almost forgot. What's your name?" The _pretender_ uplifted a smile.

"OH, Stanley," he said, still shaking his hand, "Um, what's your—

"How wonderful it is to meet you, Stanley," he brightly interrupted as he looked up at the ticking clock that was above the two boys. "Well, it's getting late. I'll see you around, alright? Good-bye, Stanley."  
>Devoid of a chance to reply to his fastened communication, the boy released his grip and left in haste.<p>

"_Weird_."


	6. Chapter 6

**September 17, 1924**

"Rise and shine, young master!"

An array of sunlight shimmered upon the young boy. A soft awakening from the curtains pulled from the windowed doors, which led to his small balcony.  
>Muldren poured a cup of hot tea from the metal cart that contained a nourished meal of fruit and oats. Blinking, the boy whiffed the scent of <em>lychee<em> and grapes, his favored smell in the morning.  
><em>Yes, today will be a good day,<em> the boy thought to himself.  
>AND then, a flash of yesterday's image came to him.<br>**D.E.T.E.N.T..**  
>He tucked his head under the pillows, hiding his face. Yes, today until Friday,<br>_Ms. Teacher_ assigned him to detention after school. The warning before was his last since he failed to have appeared in class before the bell rang.  
>He must now double his studies, and write a complete paper about <em>tardiness<em>.  
>If one is missed, then Saturday detention is likely to happen this weekend.<br>Whatever would occur, after hours were a strict bore.

"Up now, young master!" He clapped his hands together, patting his back. "I have a very tight schedule today and I will not let you have another late morning.  
>You <strong>know<strong> how stern their rules can be on the entire board."

"Nnngh, no need to tell me," the boy wearily moaned, lifting his head. "I already know what I can or cannot do. But, it's hard to bear the rules when you can hardly tolerate any of the teachers."

Muldren chuckled, handing him the cup of tea. "Hang in there, young master.  
>Only one more year."<p>

"Oooo, _wonderful_," he sarcastically said, sipping his tea.

"Well, eat your breakfast now." Muldren headed towards the door. "I'll return for the cart when you are fully dressed."

Disinterested in an early meal, he puts the cup on top of one of the trays and sets his foot down on something plastically round. Nearly stumbling over it, the boy looked down to see an unfamiliar toy as he raised it to study.

"I know what this—but, why is—who did this?"

To his recognition, it was a long-haired ape figure with a head of a plumpish open mouthed baby face. Half of the stuffed ape was one of his own, but the head of the torn baby doll was not of his.  
><em>How did this get here?<em>

He skipped in step, out of the room and down the stairs, carrying only the stuffed ape in hand. Searching for where might Muldren may be, he locates the butler in the living room lounge behind the bar, stirring drinks.  
>The boy suddenly hops on one of the stools.<p>

"Muldren, look what I found!" The boy shoved the toy in his face.

"Wh-," Muldren waves the ape away. "Why aren't you dressed?"

"Never mind that. **LOOK**." He shook the baby faced monkey once more.

"Interesting doll, young master. I must say I've never seen cross-breed dolls before."

"No, no, Muldren," the boy said, shaking his head. "It's not like that at all. I found this near my bed on the floor! I almost tripped over it, Muldren, and I have no clue how **THIS** is on the ape's shoulders." He pointed a finger on the baby's nose.  
>"I swear to you, Muldren, it's not of any of my doll's heads!"<p>

"How _bizarre_," the butler commented.

"I don't know what else to think of this." He curled the little hairs of the ape around his finger. "I wonder if it's a sign."

"Hm."

"Good mooooorning, my prince!" A voice resonated from behind. An open-armed, blithely gaped woman outstretched her welcoming arms around the boy.  
>It was his <em>step-mother<em>. Lightly inebriated.

"Mother, what are you doing here so early in the morning?" he inquired.

"Sorry, sugar plum. Mumsy lives here too," she snickered, cupping his chin.  
>"No, honestly, I'm on a day break from the choir craze. My assistant is filling in for today. Tomorrow's the <em>kill<em>, but Friday's show time."

"Ahh, the performance," Muldren included.

"I can't wait!" She rolled her eyes over to the boy and tippled her tall glass.  
>"Why aren't you in school, yet?"<p>

"Uh, the question is…..why are you drinking this early in the morning?"

"Miiiiind your business, boy. I'm fine."

"Madam," the butler spoke. "I hate to be the inquisitive one, but did you not claim that you have stopped drinking?"

"As I have said many times, Muldren, I knooow. Don't worry, it's only for today.  
>Think of it as an early celebration cheer!"<br>She raised her glass, "Wishes to the chorus and meeee," she sang, gulping the last drop of her beverage. "Heeey, what's that?" She eyed the primate in the boy's hands.

"Ugh, that's it. Muldren, call Philip. I'm going to school."

The recurrent sound of the hands tocktact round the numbered clock, past the hours it seemed to have consumed the boy, minute by minute.  
>The day deliberately dragged from its instructors and patterned agendas; he could not help but pause in <em>wonderland<em> during class every second.  
>Counting fingers tired him, tracing the edge of his desk was hopelessly flat by the touch of his fingertip, and the one single strand of hair that stringed outside the side of his ear, for which he has tried to flatten, did not help to ease the boredom at all.<br>Aside from listening indistinctively in front of the room and repeatedly dotting the same letter on his worksheet, his attention was set on Stanley for an abbreviate moment.  
><em>I wonder what he's doing now…<em>  
>He curiously pondered through the drawers of his mind to the wonders of <em>how<em> that doll came to be this morning.  
>Until the drawers evidently closed shut.<p>

"Tell me, dear. Are you happy here?"

Before the boy, sat _Ms. Teacher_ behind her writing table. It was a quarter to 4.  
>Not too long ago the whole classroom was lined in rows of five, seated upright and copying notes along the black board. Not too long ago, he was lifelessly hunched, impatiently sitting at the end of his seat, waiting for the bell to toll.<br>And now that detention was the treacherous downfall of today, he was closer to home than he would have thought. But first, he must answer _Ms. Blabbermouth's_ question before he could sew her mouth permanently. He could only **wish**.

"Yes," he replied, blinking twice. Visibly through his toned eyes, it was obvious that he was lying to her.

"I don't believe you." She leaned forward her desk.

"Hm, I suppose you think all day and tardy dreamers are all miserably troubled.  
>Don't you? Or is that just me?"<p>

Appalled by the sudden response, she immediately countered in.  
>"Excuse me, young man, but <strong>YOU<strong> are the one who comes into class every other single morning, and pushes the assigned work aside like some useless piece of tissue paper."

He irately let out a sigh as he cuffed his hands behind his back, forfending the instructor's dour contact.

"Now, I don't know what's going on at home," she continued. "But, I would suggest you to leave whatever is bothering you there and **only** there.  
>School is not to be wasted every single minute of the day weather you approve of simple guidelines or not, you <strong>WILL<strong> follow my instructed orders from this day till on."  
>She raised her brows to the boy, aiming to grasp his glare.<br>"Do I make myself clear?"

_Nay._

"Yes, _ma'am_," the boy said, indicating a short nod.

"Very good." She leaned back on her chair. "Now, let me remind you that your grades are average, however if you continue to build castles in the air, then gladly be my guest to lower each daily grade. You will fail if you do not meet the approval grade of my class."

"I can see that."

In a moment of pause the teacher uncrossed her arms and was now restrained to being sedately composed.  
>"Is there anything you would like to share, dear? Is there anything I should know?<br>Perhaps, you miss being home schooled? Please, I **need** to know what you're thinking."

_What I am thinking? I'm __**MADLY**__ thinking about twisting your spine by every slow and unimaginable and excruciating turn as I twist by breaking each and every one of your little nerves, leaving you paralyzed.  
>Although, I would love to crush your larynx. Temptation is a tease…<em>

"Heh…" he suppressed his laughter as a hint of a smile traced across his face.  
>"Like you said Miss, I am only building castles in the air. I….just have a difficult time in focusing on course work. Motivation drags by the foot around here."<p>

"Well, I'm sorry you feel that way," she said, tapping her fingers. "But, you have no choice but to listen."

"_Right_," he falsely agreed. The boy headed towards the door.

"I'll see you tomorrow," she called out as he left his _blabber_ of a teacher in the empty classroom.

In the residence of his abode, he solemnly entered the living room to see that his mother was chattering on the telephone with a low, mumbling voice on the other end of the line.  
>The motorboat of his mother's mouth proceeded to prolixly yap and gibber, word by word. Before he could partially interrupt his mother's discourse, he was shortly greeted by the disturbance of growls and barks.<br>By none other, but his dear mother's, pet toy poodle, Ella.

"Shoo!" He waved his hand at the poodle. "Away from me, you cotton rat."

The little scoundrel wildly barked and hopped on its hind legs, clawing at his right leg.  
>It was apparent to the boy that she thought he was an intruder….which was everyday.<br>He always thought Ella appeared less of a threat when she would playfully cuddle in his mother's arms, or when she would curiously flap her bow tied ears.  
>Yet, apart from her frilly and amiable acts of affection, she was a covetous and overly defensive dog, protecting the only owner she had.<br>And **this** is why the boy strongly abhorred the pet.

"Mother, pleeeeease make her stop." He anxiously shook his leg, struggling to shove her off and away from his space.

"Shh!" She hushed the boy. "I'm talking to your father, please quiet down!"

"But **YOUR** dog…."

"Just grab her and put her in the other room," she demanded, covering her palm on the end of the telephone. "Simple as that! Do it, _nooow_."

_**Die.**_

"Alright!" He began to reach his hands under the poodles under arms. Snarling, with gritted teeth, the boy hesitated to reach for her. He paid no mind to her warning, but before he could hoist Ella up, she unexpectedly bit his hand.

"**AUGH!**" He flinched, aback his hand from her tined teeth. "You little—"

In a pique of fit, he kicked the poodle against the wall.  
>She sharply yelped and laid there motionless like a cloth rag.<br>Slamming the phone on the receiver, his mother dashed to her tendered _darling_ in pain.  
>She held the whimpering Ella as she silently breathed to her.<p>

"How could you have done this!" She shouted to the boy. "She's just a baby!"

"BABY?" He emitted in repeat. "She's a grisly little uproarious mutt! I've just about had enough of her!"

"OH, stop it!" She stamped her foot. "You are overacting over something so small!  
>What's the matter with you?" She upsettingly said, caressing the top of Ella's head, fixedly still around her owner's arms. "You know, she means the world to me."<p>

"She's…a…DOG," he emphasized. "She's no better than a human, a rat at least, _no_, less than a rat, she's **SCUM**."

"Enough. Enough! I've just had about **enough** of you for today. JUST…,"  
>She pointed forwardly out of the living area. "Go to your room! There will be no supper for you tonight. Ugh, my head…thank you.<br>Thank you for giving me another migraine," she mordantly said by tap.

"You are most certainly welcome, Mother _dearest_," he replied. "PLEASE, by all means, drink it off! It's what leads you best as an excellent mothering figure."  
>The boy treaded heavily out and up the stairs as his mother followed his trail.<p>

"**WHAT**?" She clamored below the staircase, eyeing his every move up the steps.  
>"Are you calling me an uncaring mother! I may not be your biological mother, but I care for you as if you were my own!"<p>

"TOUCHING," his voice echoed as she heard the door slam shut.

"Through the power of the holy spirit, go back to my memory as I sleep.  
>Every hurt that I have ever caused to another person…heal that hurt.<br>I ask, Lord, to be forgiven. Remove whatever bitterness may be in my heart, Lord,  
>and fill the empty spaces with your…love…thank you Jesus. <em>Amen<em>."

A quarter till 9 before bedtime. The boy kneels at his bedside, unendingly praying for his inexcusable pardoning. His mother stands behind on guard, inspecting his prayers, ensuring that he remembers every line.

"Again," she said, staring down at her "son".

He hiddenly sighed. "Mother, how many times must I repeat myself? This is the twentieth time I say this."

"You will continue to ask for forgiveness until you truly mean it. I'm not convinced that you are asking for it. And when we are finished, you will end it, as always, with _Matthew 6:9 15_."

"What?"

"Our Father innnnn….," she reassured him.

"Ohhhhh, that's right."

"**Again**."

He tightly clenched his hands together. The boy continually prayed the beginning of the first sentence.  
>"Through the power of the holy spirit..."<br>And so on.

_I sense the pupil of religious hypocrisy as I flash through the times where past sinners clung onto the Lord and his inescapable power. Notwithstanding, through hardships and sorrow, all who inhabited moral values by God and whomever, they firmly persist to transgress further immoralities. How could they truthfully ask for forgiveness if they are unwilling to abide by every awaited proposal? Furthermore, I question the faith in humanity and the existence of the God who answers us beyond the unseen light, yonder by the concealed darkness.  
>Therefore, I'm not afraid to say that I detect loathsome means against my step-mother, now and then my father, and the world. Comprised reality itself.<em>


	7. Chapter 7

**September 23, 1924**

_I must question myself, please…am I imagining my morning finds?  
>Again and again I have been finding, by the foot of my heel, the bodied dolls of displaced baby heads.<br>Warped and partially cracked on the tip of the nose or the side of the round cheeks, I normally noticed these small aspects throughout the entire last week.  
>In effect, I don't care for the dismembered bodies of my dollies, I could always ask for more of them, but it tickly sets me off the plate to find one each morning.<em>

The young man is seated in the back of the moving vehicle, skimming through the outside of the window chewing bites of chocolate nuggets. Behind the wheel, Philip on duty steers the boy to the bricks of his school.

_Interrogating did not solve it either._

"Who all is responsible for **this**?" He threw the disfigured dolls on the center table.  
>A meeting was called by the boy himself, in front of an assembly of a few maids, including his<br>Step mother and Muldren in the main living room.

The stepmother let out a short of breath. "I bought those for you, dear. You have so many toys, you forget to remember which ones are yours."

"Mother, I can assure you that I have never played with such oddities," he stated, examining the attractively quaint figures. "However, I'm pleased to see the creativity put into these toys.  
>If any of you come forward, I promise to retain your merited punishment."<p>

"Oh, **please**," the stepmother suddenly groaned, stepping towards the boy as she hooks her hands on his shoulders. "The boy only speaks little nonsense, mind him. Come to bed, dear."

"No! Listen, I've awaken to the sight of each and every one of these dolls over the past single days, and I **demand** to know who is to blame for all the trickery."

"Hmm, I do recall my remembrance about the ape one, aside from that I haven't seen the other ones," Muldren said. "I, without doubt, cannot see why he would lie."

"You see!"

"Even if he was lying, we could agree that the boy has an open and vivid imagination," the maidservant, Eloise added. "Those are exquisitely fine dolls you have there, young master."  
>She acceptingly nodded.<p>

"I'm afraid that I am not familiar with the dolls, I'm sorry to say I am not your culprit, sir," one of the housemaids spoke.

"No, Sorry," Eloise said.

"I'm sorry, too," Muldren confirmed, as so did the other house servants.

Unfavored by belief, the boy looked up to his mother to see her lifted brow.

"DON'T give me that look, boy," the stepmother snapped. "IF, you **think** you can easily get away from this little _meeting_, think again! You know, this whole doll situation reminds me that we should, perhaps, throw away all your toys away into the bin."

"**NO**! You can't!"

"OH, yes I can! Boys your age should focus on studying **print**, not TINKER toys."

"I refuse!"

"OH, drop it." His stepmother snatched his arm and faced the servants.  
>"The poor dear is dreadfully sorry for the inconvenience that he has set up. Thankfully, we will all forget that we had this conversation and continue to our daily lives, haha," she chuckled, and tightened her grip around the boy. "<strong>Apologize<strong>."

"Sorry," he murmured.

"Wonderful. You may be dismissed, all of you. Off to bed with you, boy."

"Watch your step, young master." The door of the conveyance opened and outside the footpath, he stepped to meet Philip, who gripped the handle.  
>"Have a wonderful day, young master," Philip said. "And <strong>please<strong> withhold the amount of sugar you're consuming for today's breakfast. I don't want your mother to think that is all you've been eating."

"She'll never know," the boy snorted, turning his back.

He parted from Philip, digging his fingers into the nugget bag, disobeying Philip's advised entreat.  
>Cavities for breakfast are just his treat.<br>Merging in with the cliques and the barking dogs of the schoolhouse, he scans amongst the watching crowds. He suddenly feels as if he is smothered by all eyes.

_That feeling again….I can feel all the negativity. Is it just me? No, it's not.  
>I know it. Should I care? I can't help myself, but…<em>

In the corner of his sight, the boy spots a perceptible sum of three voluble boys, including Stanley.  
>Stanley, whom jutted outwardly in the middle of the group, seemingly to have barely open his mouth, but to only lend his ears and a soft smile. The boy could not have helped, but to reflect his smile back and without second thought, he walked towards him, forgetting that the others were there.<p>

"Hello, Stanley." He approached to his side. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"

"Um, heh, sure, you could say that," Stanley answered, shifting his _beads_ consistently back and forth at the mates and the strangely-kind boy.

"Hey, uh, we'll be back." The other boy bumped his arm. "We're going to…get something."

The others left the two, muttering in chortles.

"I wonder more if they talk of me often. I'm guessing they really like me, haha," the boy joked.

"Yeah, sorry, they still like to pretend you, um, eat cats and assault girls," Stanley said, peering over his shoulders.

"I eat cats?" The boy smirked. "HM, sounds delightfully yet, atrociously scrumptious."

"Hahaha, pleeeeease, don't make me hungry."

"I still am." He offered his chocolates. "Care for some?"

"Ummm," he was hesitant.

"But of course, everyone cannot resist rat juice, painted in chocolate." He circled the bag up to his nose.

"Ha, mmm, my favorite," he approved, grabbing two bits. "Second to spider brains."

"**Unbelievable**. You favor spider brains? I'm surprised to hear, well, other than myself, that someone enjoys their mushy taste. "

Stanley went along the play. "Oh, yes. The perfect midnight snack."

The bells echoed inside the halls of the opening doors.  
>Rowdily, pushing students crowded to the entrance of the building.<p>

"Farewell to you, Stanley." The boy hands his chocolates to him. "Here, take the bag."

"Wow, um, thanks. See you," Stanley said, signaling his hand, _goodbye_.

Till the boy shared the same _farewell_, leaving Stanley. A stir of laughter arose from behind.

"What did your little boyfriend want?" The boy wearing the loose tie teased.

"A kiss!" A boy shouted, puckering and smacking his rounded lips. They all responded in laughter.

"Pfffffffft, dry up, guys!" Stanley exclaimed, dropping the whole bag of nuggets in his mouth. "He'sth noth that badth," he explained, stuffed.

"Tch, I just don't understand how you can talk anywhere in public with that creep," the boy in the loose tie spoke once more.

Stanley gulped to his last drop. "Well, it's not so bad. I mean sure, he has that _unusual look_, but he's really not what you think he is!"

"I know, you said that before," one of the boys said.

"We still think he's a **creep**," one of the others added.

"That's a tad low, don't you think? Give him a chance. It's the least we can do."

"Not a chance, marshmallow, hehe," the boy in the loose tie continued. "But, **really**, I'd stay away if I were you. No one trusts him, and you shouldn't either.

"Uh-huh…," he paused. "Anyway, I got to go. You should, too. "

Stanley departed from the nitpicks at fault, disallowing to hear further remarks.

"**REMEMBER**, our warning depends on you!" A call elevated. 

_**Sure thing.**_


	8. Chapter 8

**September 26, 1924**

"**QUIET!**"

The bed sheets flipped on the side of the bedroom floor.

Climbing to his feet, on top of his mattress, he tacked his fingernails to the wall behind his headboard.

"**MULDREN!**"The boy cried. Scraping the fragile ends of his nails and the tips of his rimmed fingers at the wall.

Muffled thuds of sprinting steps drawed closer to the room. The door flung, yawning open, the light flicked on and standing by the open doorway was his heavy-eyed mother and Muldren.

"Help!"He flew his hand towards the two.

"What on Earth…..," Mother repeatedly blinked.

Muldren promptly stepped forward, when suddenly, the boy latched himself onto Muldren, sealing his arms around his neck, leaping from the bed and out of the room and into the hallway.

"Are, are you alright, young master?" Muldren's voice rose in concern as his attention acknowledged the boy's behavior. Roaming his hands and oscillating his skin, pressured in rolls.

"Th-There's," he starts, non-responding to the servant. "There's something under my bed…."

"What?" Mother said from the frame of his doorway, "under your bed?"

"Oh dear, do you hear any scattering under your bed?" The butler glanced over at his mother.

"Perhaps, there are a few rodents that sneaked under the floorboard."

"Yes, perhaps," she nodded, "or the creaks in the house that happens every so often."

"No, NO!" The pre-incensed boy flared.

"There are **no **rodents under there, and it is absolutely NOT the clonks of the pipes!" He constantly ruffled through his trimly coiled hair by the harsh strokes of his sweaty palms.

The rate of his unsteadied and slow breathing to try and remain neutrally calm was not enough help to situate his stirred confusion…..or _fear_.

"I-I hear whistling, **unbearable **sharp whistling. Mumbling at times, a tired hum….once.

But, more often than not, the _whistling _suspends my sleep."

"Has this just happened?" The worryingly butler said, expecting a simple _yes_.

"No, no, it's uneven. Can you imagine?" He whispered a taut laugh. "It has continued **aggravating** my

restless dreams for weeks now!" He sighed. "However….I cannot say that I have had a decent amount of sleep during this happened disturbance. It's not like the _sounds_ occur every night."

"Well, then there is the settle," his mother spoke. "It was only a dream. You were dreaming!

Come. Off to bed."

"But, I cannot sleep. The _whistling _will continue and I will not tolerate such shrill.

I am not going in there."

"**Alright**, alright. I will look under your bed." She hurried into his bedroom.

"Shall I prepare the guest room for you, young master?" Muldren said.

"Please."

Muldren leaves his side when the boy walks in front of his framed open doorway. Seen that his mother, bent on her knees, peeking under the bed and searching for wherever the _sounds_ may come from.

"Zip." She stands, right away, to her feet. "It was only a dream, honey."

He drops beside his bed and lifts a part of his sheet. He darts his touching hand over the floorboard.

She was right.

"No, it cannot be. I was conscious at the time. How can you tell me that I was dreaming?"

"I don't understand you," pushing her voice. "What do you want me to say! There….is….NOTHING….there."

"Definite, it isn't coming from below the floor. I can never hear the slightest word so near," he frustratingly sighed, the lowest, and flattened his face on the hard floor.

"Why is there never a clear explanation?" He inaudibly complained.

"Come again?" Mother pointed to her ear. "I don't speak floor." 

The boy's head slowly lifted.

Brimming his objectionable fires, fouling ardency within her deepening eyes.

_Oh, but you will. Your minute will pass once I fracture and extend your jaw onto this wooden floor. _

_You will appeal the likes of any ventriloquist dummy, dearest mother. I can only be so sure. _

"Your room is ready, young master." Muldren appeared in front.

From thereafter, little words exchanged, and by no awakening trouble, they slumbered throughout the pale midnight. Former days carried since that night, _sans_ echoed resonance and wavering hooting, the entire of the days that have passed flowed like a breeze drifting fluently.

Nevertheless, the meddling doll heads, replacing the original comeliness into a _therian_ guise, resumed night after night from the exact spot to where he stumbles up at his feet.

Suspicion commenced once again and forgathered probable questions and further accusations against a little of his house servants that might, in secret, be behind the meddling foolery, and by thoughtful consideration, all in say as well as behind the nightly sounds.

But, although the possibility of it seeming unlikely, he instead preferred his second _theory_…..

_**Bed gnomes**_.

Why else could he not catch them in the act? He presumed that their capability in size, miniature and stubby, progressed their fleetness and vulnerability to cause more and perpetual mischief.

The _witching hour _belonged to them, as well as the preternatural forces of the dark, and the guilefulness of the _gnomes_ was the least to fail and expose them to a naturality of any _well-being_.

Although the boy's theory was impractically out of reach-

_It was exactly pertinent_ _than ghosts_, he persuaded his belief.

Never has he before encountered the spirits of the dead in his household and never has he felt a formidable aura teeming with unpleasantry.

However, if it were of the _haunted_ the problem of the unlived would be the opposite of match when it comes to mishmashing tinkering and under bed raucous. _Be-wee _gnomes of the bed-belowground indeed portrayed the abnormalities of a bed gnome. And yes, he believed there was such a thing.

But, how could he try and desist their troublesome behavior, and how many were there in counting?

_I'd spare a thousand secrets if I knew, _he thought.

_Meanwhile._

The young man arrived late at his home on another _eventful _school day from domineering pedagogues followed by its recurrent subjugates.

Welcomed by immediate greets from the house maids, exhausted, he walks into his bedroom to find that one of his beloved play items has been a _victim_ of the gnomes beheadings.

There he was…lifelessly sitting.

Dozy's stuffed bear-head had vanished.

"Wh…what have they done?" He picked at what's left of cotton on the floor. "Where is your head!"

_They have nicked your precious wooly bean, awhile I was away, but why you, Dozy. Why?_

He untied the loose knot of the bow, embracing the silken scarlet that once was a possession of his very first teddy bear. Unbelievably, it was a significantly tremendous loss to release a part of the boy's childhood. Afore the nostalgic recollection of yestermorrow's, Dozy was both ears for the boy's private tellings and open thoughts. Now, it may never be restored by polishing _new_ teddies, by handed gifts as a promising replacement from the outmoded. But...all will stay put. It is far too late.

Knee-bent, he laid himself against the mammal's snugged potted belly.

"Without you," he slurred his grief. "There is no ribbon to hold. No support…**DAMN THEM**!"

He raged, suppressing the tears longing to pour.

Enough is aplenty.

The boy will wait until the sun is dead and nightfall is at its middle hour.

He **will** maintain vigilance to seize the gnomesat their next disastrous ploy.

_They are sure to come tonight. I am sure. They must. I hope they are prepared for the compression of my heel._


	9. Chapter 9

**September 27, 1924**

****

**Night.**

__

_I will not move. I will not blink. I will lie and still under the covers until they move about from under and out of the bed. I will-_

Thunder roared like the clash of titan's war cries. The corners of the interior shuddered, blanketing the room with sheet lightning and thunderous claps.  
>"Unghh," he pulled the cover over his lowering head. His eyes sealed shut from the flickering of white smearing the room. "Go away," he whispered.<br>Closed in underneath the warm coverlet was not intentionally part of his night, neither was the unpredictable weather which from the beginning at start from clear blue skies.  
>But what can he do now? Thunder withheld his movement for which lightning was his least to worry. He <strong>hated<strong> to be startled in seconds. The boy reminds that he can not fall into where else his mind takes him. Sleep.

__

_I have gnomes to catch. Oh, if only-_

****

**CREAK.** A slight _squeak_ on the boards alarmed his eave. Thunder softened as lightning concurrently followed its pealing repetition. Fetal in position of a pod, he carefully waits to listen of a separate sound.

_**Get up.**__ Get up now! Here is your chance! Seize and capture! Quickly, quickly! __**OHHH.**__  
>I am nothing. I am nothing but a cowardly critter aiming to be crushed by <em>_**LITTLE INFERIOR**__ bed gnomes, and then to be struck by lightning. Absurd._

Sudden close below and evidently near, it seemed from ears as if rustled chittering feet emerged from under and out of his bed.  
><strong>Here they are.<strong>  
>The boy ravelling from his ball shot from about the covers, but repelled instantly when<br>thunder collisioned. Again he was confined beneath.  
><strong>WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!<strong>  
>He frantically raged in his thoughts, admittedly frightened and <em>frozen<em>, and yet a new sound of short knocks occurred. Not one but four knocks knocked on the panel wood.  
>The boy vents through the seemed illusionary stiffened air as ghostly shivers crept along his spine. Goose flesh and developed <em>vellus<em> rise as paunch needles prickled and eyes widened like owl's. Scrunched, the boy awaited another abruption. Gratefully, a branch of soundless lightning grasped over shadows. **A hear was nothing.**

__

_No, they can't be gone. Please….I'll force these limbs to operate for worse! Oh, pleeeeease make—_

And not an instant until he could end his fatuous beg, his thoughts soon responded to an aerial bombing of _bullets._ Feet? Yes. **Gnomes.**

****

**"AHHH, get off, get off!"** He leaped a hoarse shriek, for he did not want to risk waking anyone.  
>He kicked and swiped at the bobbling shadowed blots that overpowered his unavailing defense.<br>Enclosed under his coated _shield_, the boy was barely of any equal to their elfin mass.  
><strong>Small but strong.<strong>_ The mother lode is here._  
>A whistle ringed, circulating his ears. He startlingly jerked to his fall from out of the tent and onto the bare cold floor.<br>The boy desperately tosses the covers. He would have thought to face the enemy, but only he would face alone.  
>There he was; sitting in an empty bedroom.<p>

"I missed them," he quivered. In spite of the fact that he failed to have discover such creatures, he could not help but to feel relieved. _But…_

"Yoo-hoo!"

The boy turns his back. It sounded as if it was coming from the other side of the bed.  
>He blinked to swallow his final breath and furtively crawled to the other side.<br>And once more…nothing was there.  
>He sets an eye below. There is something <em>there.<em>

_Should I need to be so bold and flip this sheet __**JUST**__ to see who is there? Why…__**WHY**__ must you dare?_

Eyes shut, lip sucked, he turned the bottom sheet up of the mattress. He opened, and there a damaged, dangle-eyed head of Dozy's sat. A cotton-slit grin scarred on its face.

__

_"Dozy?"_ He let out. Confused.

__

_"Heeeere,"_ Dozy growled. _**"Cooome CLOSER!"**_

The _living_ Dozy sinked its fluff-mouth onto the collar of his night shirt and hauled him straight into and under the bed unknown.


	10. Chapter 10

_My fall was black. A layer of cold wind passed as I could feel a lightly touch around my hand.  
>I looked down to see that a curl of red was dancing around my hands and up my arm. But, so it was, the curling red was a curtain of velvet. Curtain? Red? This is all too familiar.<br>And before I knew it, where it seemed like my drop would never meet on solid ground or a whirlpool of endless portals, I was walled in the depths of the red velvet and into the blackened fall of absence. That was all I can scarcely remember._

His eyes opened. His back, right away, stood up from the cool ground. He rattled his gasped breathing, flailing his hands for something to hit.  
>The boy thought he was dead blind.<br>He blinked and he blinked, waiting for his vision to return, but all he could see to respond was puddles of blurred and negative colors of off-blue.  
>Within the state of disconnection, a mere sightedness began to recover from loss.<br>He blinked with open lashes until his surroundings were an appearance of a room.  
>A prodigious room without an extent; hollowed and deep.<br>No exit, no doors, but burrowing more into the black, he found that a lonely staircase—  
><em>(no rails, leading to nowhere)<em> was far in front of him.

_Is that the end of the room? It could be the exit._

As this was his only option to part from, he stepped forward out of hesitance and up the rising boarded stairs.  
>Subsequently, the boy-(which to have seemed lasted the enduringness of the <em>infinite staircase<em>) ascended the sudden whorls and turns of the patterned stairs.

"Clearly..," he sighed in mutterance. "This is not a lead to an exit, but to the route of my subconscious limbo." He assured his pace, step at a time, up and up.  
>Concluding to a stop, he reached his finale of the climb and onto another floor as he stepped up another stair.<br>Ligneous towers, resembling forts, slanted to an extent. Sticks of spars underpinned below the distorted staircases that sided amongst the towering structures.  
>It was impossible to conceive the vast image before him.<br>Although the boy's adjustment to the darkness was dim, he could still shed clearness to what was in front of him. He felt like an ant.

_Let's move on, you,_ he instructed his mind and continued to wander.

The boy found yet another staircase with two entrance posts apart on opposite sides of the stairs. Arcanely, they were less obscured and lured a long expectance to his coming.  
>Visibly, they could lead to departure from this ill lit <em>dream<em> (which now struck him) or _limbo._  
><strong>BUT<strong> before a pat on the chin could ease a decisive result, an object suddenly struck from above at his chest. Instantly, he caught it before it stumbled out of his hands.  
>The boy looked down to see the head of a soil-stained doll.<br>Chubby features, faded peach skin, dirt indents.  
>This baby was one of the <em>beheaded collection<em> that he came across each and early morning.

"Who…..who threw this?!" He clutched the head with one hand, lifting it towards the rising stairs that stand before him. Short, whispered, giggling echoed at the top; mocking his paused reaction.

"Who's…there?" He choked out, lowering his raised arm as the giggling continued.

"**I know what you are.**" The boy burst. "**Grinded** portions of your BONES and all-when I come  
>up there!" He shied the doll head in the midst of the dark pitted stairway.<br>"Now reveal yourself, gnomes!"

In the still of sound, all he could hear was a dainty thump; a sign of a dead response.

_I'm just big talk. What if I can't confront them because, well, what if they aren't what they seem to appear?_ The question built in his thoughts. _What if?_

The boy couldn't stand there any longer, he had to move.  
>"I'm in for it now," he groaned in say.<p>

At last that _pat on the chin,_ resulted the boy to jog the flight of stairs.  
>Limbo or exit, there was no matter to where he might end. Upon the capture of the gnomes is to where it will all eventually matter.<br>He cautiously aware the watch of his sprinting feet as there was no rail to securely guide his way up in the dark. Near ceding from exhaustion of the heightening scale of the cases, he forced his feet to a stop on the final step.  
>A broad and rusty steel entry met the boy's eyes.<br>_This is it._  
>And as he forth closer to the door, it divided the alignment of the section into a pair of bars outwards to an open of glinting red.<br>He entered in the bloody light. The area was a room in surrounds of umber paneled walls, including sets of steps that would lead him to a plank; which gashes in separation of another floor with several shelves. Shelves with **things**, with-_oh._

The boy crosses his way to the aisle of shelves unto the unslightliness of what laid on them. The vertebrae-baby dolls have reunited with him once again. There was a majority of altered hybrids spread apart onto every shelf, and some that he has never seen before.

"I…..I threw you all away." He shook his head, around he turned.

_"Ehehehe."_ Eerily laughter squealed from their open smiles, pinched and painted.

"Well…..if it isn't the _real_ boy."

A voice shot through the laughter.  
>The boy swung his head until his eyes revealed a white staircase he came to notice. Front-facing the rows of shelves; there was something, some sort of <em><strong>it<strong>_, for which he preferred to call _it_, standing overhead the level of the room on top of the stairs.  
><em><strong>It<strong>_ was the shade of pastel blue, pale and round speckled all over its unclad body. The cap of its messy medium-length hair, eyebrows, and the strings on its knuckles was all the hair it had.

"You know, as much as you have thought you rid of them, in secret really, they have never left," _It_ thoroughly said in the case of its severe underbite, "weeks of which you have trashed…they were always under your bed. They will never leave you." _It_ smirked.

"Th-those?" The boy eye-jumped to the side of the dolls and back.

Preserving the disorientation within the young man's contact, he stretches his arms out open.  
>"I've been waiting for <em>you<em>."

"What am I dreaming?" The boy rasped his whispering in disbelief.

_Ding!_

"But…that's it! I'm adrift in my own slumber land. I'm the little Nemo wanderer in this lucid dream." He justified, waving his index finger. "**Yes**, yes, that's it. And obviously, you are not the King Morpheus in any possession of neither crown nor throne! Likely, you are the Imp's fourth cousin." He ended with a nod.

"Now, I'M the one that's lost," the _It_ said.

"I-I guess," in defeat, the boy trails his eyes away. "I am used to believe my own ideas…."

_"And?"_

"Well," swallowing the knot in his throat, he confessed. "For this instance…..it comes from the weekly comic strips I read every day."

"Ahh, thanks for the share! But, uh, whether you would like to believe this is a _dreamy_ fantasy, well, you're right. Although, this is no slumber land. Sorry."

Before the boy could yet announce a related matter, sidetracking, he focused on the spotlight  
>that centrally lighted clear over <em>It's<em> body. He could not help but to look down to where It's _privates_ are held. "Where is your…genitals?"

The _It_ scrunches a thought expression.

"Aren't you a he?"

"I am _he_. I just don't have any."

The boy revisits the inanimateness of the bundling dolls that spread among the filthy boarded shelves.

"So, you're the one who toyed and left these _unspeakable_ gifts by my bed each and **every** morning."

"While it lasted, of course!" _It_ growly chuckle the words. "And they were all just for you as _you_ were just for _them_. See, while you were dead snoozing in comfort at night I would stick my head out under your bed and leave, _a-heem_, one of my creations on the floor. They loooved to hear your wheezing sounds."

"Do they mean anything?" The boy asked, still eyes on the dolls.

"Not to YOU anyway, since you abandoned them in the garbage!"  
>The <em>It<em> blared through his lips and calmed suddenly.  
>"The animal dolls were actually made as a welcoming hello by me. But now that you are here,<br>I can finally say it in person. So um-  
>It raised its hand, twinkling its fingers, humorously smiling.<br>_"Helloooooooooo."_

"You're sick," the boy began, "how dare you rip the heads off my dolls and originate them as a calling signature of your own. Shame on you. However…I do admit a fond liking to the recreational out of the ordinary mixtures of your choices. And as much as I _**hate**_ the unease feeling of hearing what you have revealed about them. I must say…"  
>He slowly turned, facing to pierce a recalled smirk the <em>It<em> firstly conveyed.  
>"I do <em>love<em> a good scare."

"Heh," _It_ smothered a laugh, startled by his acceptable feed. "Sure you do. Loving a good scare by the wee **gnomes**, huh little boy?" _It_ childishly fluttered its lashes.

"Gnomes." The boy shortly paused. "SO, I was wrong. I thought-wait, now wait a minute…..That's right! I've entirely forgotten the whereabouts of Dozy's head! You know, you really put me on-"

"Now, now, now, now, easy, easy. Have you completely forgotten that Dozy was the one who almost bit **your** head off? I mean, that bear is the one who pulled you into this world of-of-whatever it'll be named, leaving YOU tired, lost, and weak to climb bazillion staircases to get to where you are now. Heh, what an asshole, am I right? So, forget about him!"

In defense, the boy keenly glowered up at _It_ as he stamped on the first step and slapped the rail to claw. "He wasn't alive to begin with," he gritted out. "You were the one in control of Dozy and those…those…_gnomes_." He swinged a point at the dolls.

"Mmmaaaybe and maybe I didn't. You know nothing. Well, for now at the least, heh."

The boy wheels his head in question. "What…are you?"

_It_ transfers from the facial of sneering into the gravest input it has impressed.

"I am a part of _you_." The _It_ downwardly motions halfway to the boy. "Your **monster**."


	11. Chapter 11

Blink…blink…blink.

"E-ur-nd-w-w-wha…," the boy repeatedly spat in a slur.

The _monster_ cocks, head to the left. "I've grown under your crib, your bed, but most importantly I've grown inside of you and out. Still am! Destined to live beneath you…to watch as you grow and grow as you trouble to breathe up _**there.**_"

Monster shakes his head, coughing a laugh.

"Now look what I've done! Helped shaped you up right. A dysfunctional beauty itself," smiling an awful.

Hard-faced and lost; like a child incapable of understanding an adult's complexity of meaningless explanations of what's right and wrong.  
>What stands like a message, this beast was, and just by one look, <strong>ONE<strong> meeting…  
>he knows deciphering his enveloped monstrosity and the encoded truth would be impossible to crack by foreign sense.<p>

"I'm guessing your supposition before wasn't complete without me fooling you with fake clues," the monster spoke and brushed past him. "Welp…you can follow."

Already drained, the boy anxiously follows each wide step the monster takes ahead, ascent the flight of mountains. At a reach where the monster's _tag-along_ was coming to a climax, the boy heavily grounds his last step."Enough dilly dally! WHERE are we going?"

The monster turns and up his finger points at the black roof of nothingness.

"We're at our dead end now," he said, pulling him forward at the top of the stair. "Look, look."

"Fearless perception…it blinds my eyes forth." He faked along his play a moment and then broke conditionally replying, "There is nothing!"

"No, no, you have to first put your hand up there to see how it feels." The monster further pushed his back. "Better yet, dive your whole body up there and **SURPRISE.** You'll see what I mean."

"_Surprise?_ You mean a trick? Is-is this what this is?"

"Look, I don't intend on hurting you through this and preferably I wouldn't for my UNreal, IF you got to say, self-sake. **SEE?**"

He watches as the monster's hand merges from smoky blue into the upper half of the black ceiling. Rolling away his unimpressive scopes the boy reasons empirical proof as he straight lines his own hand up towards where the monster's hand is.

"Extraordinarily simple it is, anyone can-"

A force of magnetic waves surged in rise and low constantly without moving his hand.  
>"What is…"<p>

"Feels weird, huh?"

Two worlds have never felt like quarreling between auras. He could touch the breathing entrance, extracting the danger it offense. _Pas vrai!_  
>The boy is drawn and pulled above the sinkage, he sees that he is lowered beneath a bed curtain. A crease of moonlight is shown beaming floor wood.<p>

"Oh…you DO know that you need not to set, yet, another visual that you live under my bed. I remember, monster," the boy said.

"Yeah, yeah." The monster heaved the rest of the boy's lower torso to the top as his front side lies on cold panel floor and slides in a _swoosh._

The boy stops. Something…isn't _right._ His room's ceiling was not in creamy vanilla. His room's ceiling was not shaped in a pentagon circle.  
>Thick tiles of squares, colored in mint blue is shown from the light of the moon.<br>This room did not belong to his or his house…  
>Flat like an insect on its back, a curtain tickles his nose.<br>The sweet night air flies and out the transparent curtain dances.

_This room is too small. I am by the window, for Christ's sake._

Without another second to pass, he picked his legs up. Two racks of stored toys and books. Two crooked picture frames hanging on the wall, a pile of wrinkled clothes on the floor and damaged gewgaws cornering the room. Dead in the face and tucked in bed, a little boy's eyes wink in drift of his dreams.

"Isn't that cute?" The monster pops a whisper behind the boy.

"U-ugh…" The boy shrugs. Again, he looks around the untidiness of the room. "I know I'm no perfectionist when it comes to cleaning house, but this moppet's got filth than my closet mess."

"Well, well, well," the monster walked and welcomed his arms out to present his surprise. "Look where we are! Another room, you don't say? A different house! But, not yours? Uh-oh, we better be careful not to get caught. Ha-ha, **NOT.**"

He throws a small porcelain figure from one of the racks and clashes into the corner of gewgaws. The little boy whimpers and pauses his inhalation. The boy still, freezes in ice, his heart slowly thudding in the acid of his abdomen. _Oh, the torture!_  
>Unconsciously asleep, the little boy merely rubs his eye and suckles his snores.<p>

"**STOP IT!**" The boy shrieked.

"Quit your sweats, he's used to it."

"Really?"

"Yeah, I visit him every once in a while."

"_Really?_"

"No."

"Augh! Then what are you DOING?"

"I'm having fun. You shouldn't care, I mean, reaaaally. I'm surprised you're acting like that.  
>Thought you'd laugh and get a kick out of this, if you know what I mean. So, stop being so jumpy!" The monster stomps the last of its remains on the floor.<p>

"WOULD YOU—shh!—Bu—But, what **dares** risks you to show our existence?"

"Ohoho, he, I do forgive…for those expected and **dare** they never open an eye to a monstrous face hovering above them.  
>It's expected to come one day.<br>When I get caught fooling around in someone's room, a kid wakes up and it screams its little head off. Now..what power does it chance against me? You? Pssssh.  
>You and me can easily snap fear into it like a stick.<br>Hundreds are scared to death of creatures like us, you see. We're another world…," he points his finger now.  
>"Learn that soon because they'll know what I can do, and they'll know what you can do too."<p>

The boy gives in. "Do?...What I can _do?_"

"Yeah, you'll see." The monster arms the boy's shoulder. "There's always time to understand the true meaning…of what I mean...really."

"Time...what is..," The boy walks towards one of the racks and places a hand on a toy glass, a red and yellow hoop-shaped clown. "I am guessing you are right. Didn't know you like to foolishly invade rooms like these. Well, whatever you do."

"You name one or the other. Crib rooms, kid rooms, adult rooms…, um, grandma rooms?  
>It's a full blown riot to break and take and arrange a little here and there, making them wonder now, how in the HELL did this happen? And I can imagine that's where the blaming starts, haha."<p>

The boy continues to look down at the child.

"Yes...the blaming would start. All of the witnesses pointing fingers under their beds, the culprits watching and laughing because we both know how this will end."

He picks up the clown.

"An end for their sanity. The giving trust and understanding from their birth rights."

He raises the clown.

"And the start of an undying trauma that I will ensure to never end."

Wielding the clown, like the reaper in fate by the scythe, he was sure to strike, but in one hand the monster reached.

"What's **that**…for?" He spoke.

"A scy—I mean-it doesn't matter."

"Hey, listen, I know I'm all that bad, but this is a bit of a cheap doing; while he's sleeping? He's only a kid."

"He'll only fall into a concussion."

The monster breathed a snort.  
>"Sure…only…but the brutal tension in your face tells me you're capable of doing so much more, and not only do I like that but I LOVE it. "<br>He gestured the boy away from one shove.  
>"C'mon, I'm bored enough as it is. Plenty to go around and see."<p>

_Fine._ Nothing to argue about. One minute he was curiously aware, lured in questions, a minute more, he trances in his own stupor and motives an advantage he is unmindful of, but never did it bother. No, not a care, he shook it off and slipped under the bed with the monster to follow.

"AH!" He falls flat, sucked back into their underworld. Groaning on dirt ground, the boy looks up to see the elegance of a swan's wings gliding down to him.  
>It was only the monster, flapping and posing in show of what he can do.<p>

"Your winged savior has arrived!" The twirling monster lands and bows, "I am in command to your every wish! My princess…" He humorously offers his hand.

The boy partially closes in glare. "I hate you." He begins to kick him down as the monster blocks the attack with his meaty legs.

"OUCH! Ow! Hey, stop it!"

"Why is it that I'm the one who falls fast, literally, on their spine, and then you come along defying gravity?" He asked, kicking each foot at a time.

"GUH, are you done? I'm a monster, so anything logical to you will stop making sense," the monster said, grabbing his ankle. "In MY world."

He lets go and crouches to where he sits. "Ehhhh, you'll be able to do it too."

"I'm not a monster."

"Weeeeeell…" He pulls the boy up and notices his holding figurine. "You still have that?! GAH, don't make me repeat myself as to what's that for again, well I kind of did right now, but don't make me ask the full questio-wait….where am I going with this?"

"Souvenir. **Just.** Okay?"

"Why? There are many souvenirs for you to take later."

"I'll take what possession I ever please on each visit." He pets the porcelain clown.

"Hm, then we should get a move on if you want more. Come on!"

Thereafter, the boy and his monster adventured highest.  
>Exploring rooms in all shapes and sizes.<br>Cluttered bedrooms wasted in fussy rubbish. Oblong rooms messed in ways of behavioral puckish. There were teeny ones. Newborn walls painted and unfinished, streaky, runs.  
>Old rooms exposing antiquity-like smell. Abandoned ones neglected for bugs to dwell. There were all kinds of people too. Children and grown-ups enclosed in beds.<br>The boy and monster observe to their _zoo._  
>They rattled their cages, making them squirm. Gripping and scraping the bedposts nice and firm.<br>Together the two bursted in silenced uproar. Trademarking trouble and confusion galore. They broke vases and shredded glass by the bed for those who don't look. Both unstuffed bears, pulled feet, and found treasures they could crook.  
>A DISASTER, the saps would wake to find. Their eyes veined and teeth to grind.<br>A shock as to how this could have happened in their sleep? All that said, however, if any child were to experience an awakening from noises under the deep, the sheets on their bed would begin to rise in fright. Leaving them scared in wonder…what really goes bump in the night?


End file.
